The Third Rescue

by Jay Mackey

  CJ managed to get out of the garage and slide in behind the white car at the traffic light.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Oval. “Stop him? Punch his lights out? I mean, what’s the play here?”

  “I don’t have a play,” said CJ. “This guy has apparently been following us all week, so I thought I’d see how he likes it.”

  “Oh, that’s so smart,” said Penny, still with her arms crossed. “I’m sure he’s going to be so scared—three kids chasing after him. One with crutches.”

  CJ didn’t respond, concentrating on following the white car. It took a couple right turns, ending up heading west, away from the Strip. Finally, he said, “How are we going to know who this guy is if we don’t follow him?”

  “Why do we care?” answered Penny.

  “Yeah, you know all we’re doing is making his job easier,” said Oval. “He was following us. Now he knows right where we are.”

  The white car passed the freeway ramp and continued on the side street for several blocks before making another right turn into an industrial area.

  “You don’t even know why he was following us,” said Penny. “Maybe he has a gun and wants to kill us. Maybe he’s a pedophile. Maybe he’s the one who wanted to kidnap us.”

  CJ said, “He could have pulled his gun on us in the garage, and he didn’t.”

  “So what?” said Penny. “That doesn’t mean he won’t.”

  The car made a left turn into a small parking lot, in what looked like a construction area. When CJ pulled in behind him, the driver made a quick 180-degree turn, effectively blocking CJ, who slammed on his brakes.

  “Shit,” said CJ, throwing the car into reverse.

  “Damn it!” said Penny, slamming her fists into the dash. “I told you!”

  The driver’s door on the white car opened and the man got out, looking very angry.

  CJ tried backing away, but suddenly another car pulled in behind him. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said.

  “Oh man, we’re totally fucked,” said Oval.

  “Do something,” said Penny, watching the man from the white car stop advancing on them.

  “Just wait,” said CJ, looking at his rearview mirror. “Who is that?”

  Oval turned around to look behind. “Oh crap,” he said. “That’s Jack.”

  All three kids turned to look. They saw Jack getting out of the green car behind them and moving around behind their car toward the other man who stood just in front of them.

  “Who are you?” they heard Jack say. “Government?”

  The man glared at Jack, looked at CJ, then back to Jack. He sneered. “Fuck you,” he said, and turned back to his car.

  Jack called out again. “Is this about the drugs? Is that it?”

  The man didn’t answer. He got back in his car and slowly pulled around the other two, glared at Jack, and drove out of the parking lot.

  Jack watched the man go, and then went up to CJ’s window, motioning for CJ to open it. When the window was open, Jack bent down so he could see all three kids. “You all okay?” he asked.

  “We’re fine,” said CJ. Penny and Oval nodded.

  “CJ. We really need to talk now,” said Jack.

  “How did you happen to be here?” asked CJ. “Coincidence?”

  “Not at all,” answered Jack. “After you blew me off, I came looking for you. Figured you might be at New York-New York after that crack about roller coasters. I found that jerk”—he motioned toward the street—“and then saw he was watching you. That was right before you left, down the elevator to the parking garage. I was parked on the street, so I just double parked near the garage exit and waited for you to come out.”

  “How’d you know what car we had?” asked Penny. Her mistrust bled through her voice.

  “When I talked to Clyde down at the True Believers, he said you were driving an old brown Buick. Not too hard to spot.”

  “Who was that guy? I heard you say something about drugs,” said CJ. “I don’t get it. We’re not into drugs.”

  “No, no, not those kinds of drugs,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Look, bottom line, I don’t know who he was. My guess, he was part of a—” He stopped, lifted his hat and ran his hand through his hair, what there was of it. “This is why we need to talk. It’s a long story.”

  “I don’t know if we have time for a long story,” said CJ.

  “Yeah, we’re kind of busy,” added Penny.

  “Let me tell you what’s going on, before you get yourself into real trouble,” said Jack, looking a little desperate.

  “What’s this got to do with CJ’s grandmother, anyway?” asked Oval. “That’s what we’re here for. Not to get involved in your shit.”

  “That’s the thing,” said Jack. “It’s not just my shit. That guy was following you, not me. It may be that our shit is the same shit.” He looked at CJ and nodded. “I’m not kidding. There’s something going on here that has us both in the crosshairs. If we ignore it, we . . . I don’t know. But don’t just walk away.”

  CJ looked at Jack, and then at Oval and Penny, thinking. Then he said, “No, Oval is right. The only reason I’m even here in Vegas is because I thought I could find out something about my grandmother. But that’s not looking too good right now. I’ve only got one more lead, and that’s up in Carson City. So we’re going to drive up there tomorrow. And then we’ll have just Saturday left, because Oval and I are flying out Sunday.”

  “Carson City?” said Jack. “What’s in Carson City? Is this about the Russian spy thing? Because I think—”

  “I don’t think Nini was a Russian spy. Carson City is where they have the records for the orphanage that my grandmother probably grew up in,” said CJ. “At least, I hope they do. It’s my last chance, really.”

  “And they can’t tell you over the phone?” said Jack.

  “No. Have to prove I am who I say I am, that I’m related to the orphan, I guess,” said CJ.

  “I’ll buy you all dinner, all right?” said Jack. “Give us a chance to talk.”

  “Didn’t you hear?” said Penny. “We’re busy.” She leaned toward Jack, sneering.

  “We’ve talked to you before, and all we’ve ever gotten for it is a broken ankle,” said Oval, raising his cast up to show Jack.

  “Yeah, we’ve got our own plans for dinner,” said CJ. “No thanks.”

  “Then, how are you getting to Carson City?” said Jack. “Not in that old heap you’re driving. Through the desert? Carson City is at least six hours away. Let me take you. We can talk on the way.”

  CJ turned to Penny and Oval. Penny crossed her arms and looked away. Oval shrugged. CJ turned back to Jack, took a deep breath and said, “Okay. You pick us up at Penny’s place at eight o’clock in the morning.”

  Jack smiled. “Deal. But be careful tonight. I’m not kidding. You could be in danger.”

  And so Penny told her mother that they’d be going to Carson City. CJ told an elaborate story to explain why he needed to go there: basically, that some of the records on Marcio that he’d found on FamilyHeritage.com were confusing, so he wanted to see what the state records office had. But Mrs. Hancock was less concerned with why they were going than how. She eventually consented to the trip on the grounds that she first meet Jack before they left.

  Jack arrived just before eight in the morning. He managed somehow to charm Mrs. Hancock, who seemed pleased that he was older, and not an obvious pedophile, so the trip was approved.

  Having stayed up playing video games, eating anything and nearly everything they could find in the house, and watching a horror movie into the wee hours, the three kids were quite tired when they piled in to Jack’s car.

  CJ, especially, was in bad shape. He said that he’d been unable to sleep much because of headaches. In fact, headaches had bothered him off and on all week.

  “Do you get headaches often?” asked Penny. “’Cause I get them sometimes.”

  “It’s weird,” he said. “It’s not real
ly a headache. It’s more like voices in my head, someone talking to me. Or yelling at me, really. I’ve never had this happen before.”

  “I hope those voices aren’t too loud,” said Jack. “Because I’ve got a story to tell, and I want to make sure you hear it.”

  CJ assured him that he was fine, and once they were well out into the desert north of Vegas, Jack started telling his story. The kids may have been tired when he started, but they gradually came to wide-eyed attention as Jack told them about the strange crash victims.

  36

  Muroc Army Airfield, June 1947

  Lieutenant Jack Omdahl, MD, was tired. He’d been on duty at the base hospital since six p.m. It was almost four a.m. now, so he had a couple more hours on his shift. He hated these overnight tours; it was often quiet in the middle of the night, meaning it was easy to get bored. Boredom was poison to a doctor, especially to a young resident, who needed to keep a sharp edge to perform his best, prove his worth, and avoid mistakes.

  Jack was a bit of a wunderkind. Only twenty-five, he’d completed med school, served nearly three years in the Army during the war, and was now in his last year of residency. Because he was younger than most of his peers, he felt he was under constant scrutiny. He couldn’t afford to perform at any level below excellent.

  He was working the Emergency Department that night, so he was thrilled when told that they had plane crash victims coming in. The good news was that a plane crash meant trauma, maybe severe trauma. For a surgical resident, severe trauma was what you lived for, where you felt challenged, where you could prove your skills.

  The bad news was that he wouldn’t be going home at the end of his shift. He’d probably be in surgery long after the theoretical quitting time. But that was all right. It was all hands on deck. The adrenaline was starting to flow even as the staff gathered, preparing equipment and facilities for a major event. For it was clearly major—not only was the staff coming to high alert, but security was making itself felt. That wasn’t unusual at Muroc, where some of the most secret aviation research was headquartered, including flight-testing new airplane designs, and rocket testing. Security was a daily fact at Muroc, although tonight it seemed even tighter than usual.

  Jack wasn’t disappointed when the victims arrived, rushed from the airfield in separate ambulances. Six victims, all badly injured. He heard there were two others, DOA.

  He helped with triage, quickly diagnosing and identifying injuries, and prioritizing patients. He then headed for the operating room, where he’d be working on a young woman who had multiple fractures as well as internal injuries. It seemed all the crash victims had severe injuries. Jack didn’t know what kind of aircraft they’d been flying, and he didn’t care. All he needed to know was on the table in front of him.

  It took nearly seven hours before the woman was stabilized. Her fractures were set but would require more surgeries. She’d been transfused massive amounts of blood to replace what she’d lost and didn’t seem to be reacting well. Still, she appeared to be out of immediate danger.

  He moved from one operating room to a second, where another of the victims was in even worse shape. This one, a man, had more severe internal injuries, and the doctors were having a difficult time getting the bleeding stopped. By the time they finished with him Jack had been on his feet for thirteen hours straight.

  Before he could even finish scrubbing after leaving the operating room, he was approached by a sergeant holding a clipboard, asking him who he’d operated on, and for his personal info—name, rank, serial number. Jack asked why the sergeant needed that info and was told it was all part of the security situation.

  “You know I’m an officer, right?” Jack asked. “I’m already signed on for every damn secret in the Army.”

  “Yes, I understand that, Lieutenant, but this is a special case. We need to keep track of everyone who has contact with these victims. And no, I do not know why.”

  Jack complied; this was the Army, after all. He was bushed, and went to his on-base apartment to get a couple hours sleep.

  He was back in two and a half hours, feeling anxious if not refreshed. He chatted with a couple of colleagues in the doctor’s lounge while getting coffee, learning that one of the crash victims had expired on the operating table. The others were in various stages of recovery, but all were in the critical care unit.

  Jack went directly to the CCU, but found that the crash victims were in a separate wing, and he had to pass through a security check before he could even get to a nurse’s station. Security was tight indeed. These must be VIP patients.

  He found his female patient awake, a good sign. She didn’t respond to his questions or directives, but she was under heavy sedation and he didn’t expect her to be alert. Her vital signs were marginal, but stable. Still, her eyes, which were a remarkable shade of blue, were wide open, and he sensed her watching him.

  Over the next several days, he found he was under a new set of orders. He and several other doctors and nurses were assigned to work only on the crash victims. It was as if the security net around these victims was being drawn tighter and tighter—no new faces in, no old faces out. It wasn’t really a problem; these patients were in need of extraordinary care. He was back in the operating room nearly every day, working on one or another of them.

  He found himself enjoying the time he spent with his first patient. None of the patients were speaking, and none carried any identification, so each was given a nickname. Jack’s patient was called “Aphrodite.” One of the doctors had pinned that name on her, because, he told Jack, she was “as beautiful and sexy as a Greek goddess.”

  Keeping with the god and goddess theme, the man who seemed to be the leader of the group of crash victims was called Zeus. An older man, Neptune. The smallest, youngest man, Mercury. The other woman was called Helen.

  Jack couldn’t say Aphrodite was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Of course, lying in a hospital bed with catheters and tubes made it hard for any patient to look good. But there was something about her that he found sensuous, the way her expressive eyes followed him when he was with her, the light touch of her hand on his arm when he was examining her. He felt that she was communicating with him, even though no words were passed.

  Aphrodite had been back in the operating room three times the first week that he had her as a patient, twice for issues related to her internal injuries, and once for the fractures on her left leg. She was frequently sleeping when he visited, but when she was awake, her eyes seemed to always be on him, as if she were studying him.

  A couple of the other crash victims started speaking, but they spoke in a language that none of the medical staff could understand. Jack had heard that the Army was looking for a translator, but none had been found.

  And then, three weeks after Aphrodite was first brought in to the hospital, Jack was doing his morning rounds. She’d been alert more and more frequently the past few days, and this particular day, she was sitting up and smiling, her blue eyes sparkling.

  “Good morning, Doctor,” she said when he entered her room. Jack was both shocked that she spoke English, and thrilled at the sound of her voice, much more thrilled than he should have been.

  37

  Muroc Army Airfield, June 1947

  Just a few days after Aphrodite’s first words, Jack, two other doctors who had been working with the crash victims, and a group of nurses were transferred, accompanying the patients as they were all moved to Groom Lake. As soon as he found out about the transfer, Jack protested. Groom Lake had a small airfield, but had no real base hospital, and had little need for the medical staff that was being moved. Except, of course, for the crash victims, who were still in critical condition, needing extensive treatment—but they wouldn’t need the entire staff that was being transferred on a full-time basis.

  His protest fell on deaf ears. He was told that Groom Lake was primarily a testing facility, where some of the most highly secret military projects were being developed. I
t would, therefore, be much easier to provide the level of security that the crash victims required. These patients were considered a high priority and were to receive the very best medical treatment possible. Jack should be proud that he had been selected for this duty. This would not be a permanent assignment, he was told. He could get back to his previous posting once the crash victims were fully recovered.

  At first, Jack found the conditions at Groom Lake to be abysmal. The medical facility was housed in what had clearly been hastily converted from living quarters. The equipment, while new, had been installed haphazardly, and he fought a constant battle to find the drugs and supplies that he needed.

  However, soon after they arrived, Jack found that there was a massive construction project underway, and much of the construction was for medical facilities. Included were not only patient, exam, and operating facilities, but also laboratories and testing facilities.

  Jack and the transferred medical team continued to treat the crash victims. All five survivors were showing good signs of recovery, but further surgeries were still needed for all but Aphrodite. She was getting stronger by the day, and was soon moving about with the aid of crutches.

  With so few patients, Jack found he had increasing amounts of time on his hands. He started spending more and more of his day with Aphrodite. He would sit with her, walk with her, and generally enjoy her company.

  They spent a good part of their time together working on language. When she’d spoken that first “Good morning, Doctor,” Jack had thought she knew the English language but hadn’t spoken because of the trauma she’d gone through. That proved not to be the case. She’d observed nurses and staff greet Jack that way, noted that he seemed pleased, and so recited it to him one morning. She later told him that she’d understood not a single word.

  Jack found a willing and able student in Aphrodite. She quickly moved past names for body parts, something Jack dealt with in far more detail than perhaps someone who wasn’t a physician might have. She understood the concept of personal names, but her own came out as an unintelligible garble. She laughed when Jack tried to say it. Her laugh was so light and infectious that Jack repeated his poor efforts at reproducing the clicks and guttural sounds that rolled off her tongue so easily, failing each time. Eventually they fell into a laughing fit, and she had to beg him to stop, saying that she was perfectly happy being called Aphrodite.